Chapter 8 – Scheduling Some Time
After his unconventional wake-up call, Jess spent the rest of the day working at Truncheon. While he wished he could avoid it altogether, dealing with mind-numbing, day to day operational stuff couldn't be put off any longer.
"I really need that day off, man. I asked you about it weeks ago, and now I have to book a room and tickets and stuff."
Jess bit back the urge to growl at the kid. Whether or not Stephen got to go on a weekend road trip with his buddies wasn't even on his radar today.
"What does the schedule say?"
"Matt hasn't done a schedule more than 2 weeks ahead. No one can plan anything if we don't know when we're working."
Jess groaned and rubbed his eyes under his reading glasses. He was supposed to be reviewing a short story anthology today, to get it ready for publishing – not doing the HR equivalent of hand-holding.
"Ok, what day again?" Stephen told him, and he jotted it down in his notebook on a page titled 'Office Bullshit', which seemed only too appropriate. "I'll get the schedule done tonight for the next two months, and you'll have that day off, alright?"
"Thanks, boss! That's really great!"
When Stephen moved to hug him, Jess leaned backwards.
"Now, now. Let's not cross into sexual harassment territory. No touching is good touching, as far as I'm concerned."
Stephen turned and wandered off, muttering about crazy employers, and Jess just shook his head. This was getting out of control. He and the other two amigos had been carefully avoiding making any big business decisions, but Jess really didn't think they could bury their heads in the sand anymore.
With that in mind, he speed dialed Matt's cell.
"-Lo?"
"Hey, asshole. Where are you?"
Matt chuckled at Jess' gruff greeting. "Why? Missing me terribly?"
"Well, you know what they say. Absence makes the heart grow angry and hostile."
"Touché. So you just called to puff up my ego, or what?"
Jess sank into the desk chair and started doodling in his notebook. "Can you be back here at 4?"
"Probably," Matt drawled slowly, just to piss Jess off. "Is it important?"
"Oh, I'm sorry, is my continued mental health going to conflict with your social calendar?"
His business partner laughed again, and Jess was reminded why the two made such good friends.
"Don't get your panties in a twist. If it involves your precious melon, I can be back for 4. Hey, I might even bring coffee."
"Ok, good. Because you and I are going to sit down and call Chris, and we're all going to discuss our imploding management situation."
"There's a situation?"
This time, Jess really did growl. "You know damn well it's becoming a colossal fuck up. I am not the guy you want handling bills and staffing and shit."
"Ok, ok, fair enough," Matt sighed into the phone, "you're right. It's not working with all of us just covering anymore. I'm meeting with that new poet I told you about in about 10 minutes, and then I'll be back and we can come up with some sort of plan."
"Alright. Good. I'm in serious danger of slapping an employee or two if I have to keep worrying about schedules." Jess didn't bother to mention that he was always a hair's breadth away from smacking the stupid ones. He figured that was fairly well known.
"Keep it tamped down until later, Banning. At least until Captain America is there to subdue you."
Jess snorted. "And you're supposed to be Captain America? Are you serious?"
"Fuck you. Of course I'm Captain America."
"Right, whatever. Keep dreaming. See you later."
"Later."
Jess shot Chris a quick text to make sure the time worked for him as well. Then he put his cell down and pulled his notebook closer, scribbling out an idea of the duties that needed to be taken off their hands. Bill payments, payroll, scheduling, dealing with the printer and advertising were all on his mind, along with organizing events, outreach to new talent and maintaining friendly contact with their previously published artists. The last two had dropped to embarrassing levels lately, reflecting on their business in a way he wasn't comfortable with.
After a few minutes of writing, Jess sat back and laughed. Rory would be so proud of him, sitting there making lists. He had even numbered the items to prioritize them. Get him a coloured marker and he would practically be a teenaged girl. He begrudgingly admitted that she was right, though. Getting the list down on paper made him feel less stressed out. Well, maybe just a little further away from an impromptu murder spree, but it was an improvement.
Their earlier conversation ran through his head and he dropped his pen again. He didn't like her tone in that voicemail message. Not one bit. Despite the years and space, he would probably always feel protective of her, and that scared, faking-a-smile Rory voice set his heart pounding. Where she was, she probably had the best protection possible, but it still didn't sit well with him.
Jess raked his hands through his hair, trying to forget that she was potentially in danger and how that made him feel. He had no business worrying about her anymore. It was a hard habit to break, however. She'd been in bad situations before, brought about by working in high-profile places that therefore became obvious targets. That hoax anthrax scare in 2012 had cleared the WhiteHouse and other DC government buildings. Sure, it turned out to be nothing, but after getting a call from a panicking Luke, he was glued to his TV for longer than he cared to admit.
His chest hurt, remembering the fear, and he rubbed his hand across his sternum. It was useless to fight it. She sucked him in like a black hole if he ever dared to get too close, even a fraction out of his acquaintance orbit. Granted, she was a lot easier on the eyes than he imagined a black hole would be, but her gravitational pull on him was no less impressive.
She didn't do it intentionally. They just couldn't fight the connection that kept bringing them together. The closer they got, the stronger it yanked at their hearts, until they slammed into one another and one or both of them got hurt. At least, Jess assumed that her heart felt the same pull as his. She seemed to be as affected as he was, but there had never been any confirmation, really. I think I might have loved you was hardly a declaration on the same scale as the ones he'd foolishly made to her. Maybe she really was just an unknowing black hole, pulling in unsuspecting but willing hearts, only to be surprised when they bounced off her and slingshotted away in broken pieces.
He blinked suddenly, surfacing from the depressing monologue in his head. He really needed to stop reading Charlotte Bronte before bed. It was starting to affect his mood, and he didn't need any help being moody.
For the next hour, he concentrated his efforts on fleshing out the staffing ideas he had, coming up with justifications for the arguments he knew Matt and Chris would bring up. And before Jess could get back into the anthology, Matt returned and sprawled at the desk across the room.
"Well, that was a fucking waste of time."
Jess raised an eyebrow at the dramatics. "No new poet?"
"The guy tried to pitch a series of long, angsty epics about killing the world with fossil fuels." Matt rolled his eyes and let his head fall back in mock exhaustion.
"At least he's topical?"
Jess' partner snorted and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "He wrote in iambic pentameter to 'channel Shakespeare'. When I asked him which of the plays had influenced him the most, he said 'the one with Mel Gibson'."
Jess just laughed. "You can't be serious."
"I can't make this shit up. Honestly, what is wrong with people? It's like we're living in an intellectual vacuum."
"Ok. So, no new poet."
Matt raised his head briefly. "I thought that's what I just said."
"Right. Let's just call Chris and get this over with, yeah?"
As he dialed, he watched Matt pull the bottle of scotch from his bottom desk drawer and pour a short glass for himself. He declined when the bottle was offered his way. Considering his melancholy trip earlier, drinking didn't seem like the best idea.
"Yo, brothers. What's up?"
Chris' voice sounded tinny through the speaker phone, but Jess was happy to hear it. Of the three, Jess and Chris were the closest, and he missed his friend more than he cared to admit. Boston was too far away when he had writer's block at three in the morning or when Chris needed help being tough with an author and wanted to discuss it over pizza and beers. Technology was great, but it just wasn't the same.
"Hey, man. How's it going up there?"
"It's cold. And the women don't like me."
"Uh oh," Matt chuckled, "your charm doesn't work on Ivy League girls?"
Chris groaned like he was dying. "They're IMMUNE! Bring me HOME!"
"We're working on it, man." Jess pulled out his list and tapped his pen against his notebook. "Ok, so we all know this isn't working. We're stretched thin, and I don't know about you, but I'm not cut out for office management."
The other two grunted their agreement, and Jess took a deep breath of courage. "I think we need to hire at least two people."
"What the hell?"
"Have you arranged for the printer to print money for us instead of books?"
Jess glared across the room at Matt. "Before you both go off half-cocked, let me explain what I'm thinking."
"Fine," Chris barked back through the speaker. Matt just threw his hands up in surrender.
"I've got a list of all the stuff we need someone to take care of, and considering the travel required to move between all three places, it makes sense to have one person in Boston, and another either here or in New York."
When there was no further yelling, he continued.
"Boston needs the most help, and we're all pretty firm that no one wants to move there permanently." His partners again indicated their agreement, with a nod and corresponding silence from the phone. "I think we should hire a Store Manager to run Boston as its own location. They can handle staffing and small events, advertising, etc. We can travel there to meet with authors when needed, but no one would have to go on a regular basis."
Chris spoke up at that. "Thank GOD. I'm sure Beantown is a great place for some, but it's just not working for me."
"So we've heard," Matt yelled, "pretty much non-stop since you left!"
"Calm down, you two. Chris, you know we appreciate you taking the bullet and moving there for a bit to get the store running."
"Yeah, well... someone had to do it."
Jess fought the urge to swear as he talked his partners down from the ledge. Usually he was the hot head in this type of discussion.
"Ok. New York is running pretty well on its own. Casey has made noise about wanting more responsibility, and she's practically supervising everyone else there anyway, so I think we should change her title to Team Lead or something. She can handle scheduling and any other emergencies that pop up there."
Matt nodded along as he listened to Jess' plan. "Yeah, she's awesome right?"
"Don't even think about it!" Jess leveled an accusing finger in his friend's direction. "The employees are off limits, especially the good ones!"
"What?! I didn't do anything!"
Chris chuckled as Matt backpedalled. "Go mack on somebody else. We can't afford to lose her!"
Jess took another deep breath. Trying to get anything done as a group was always like herding cats. It was impossible to keep everyone on the same track.
"Ok, so that's Boston and New York covered. But there's still HR here and all the general, business crap we don't have time for. So I think we should also hire a Business Manager to be based here in Philly, that will do basic scheduling and stuff for this location, as well as bookkeeping and whatever else we need for the business overall."
Matt was nodding again, but Chris wasn't buying it.
"Why do we need someone else? I mean, if all the HR from the other cities is off our hands, won't we have time to do the business stuff amongst ourselves?"
Jess sighed. "I don't know what you like doing in your spare time, but I personally don't want to write another business cheque again. Ever."
"Yeah, Chris. I think he's right."
"Well, colour me surprised." Jess raised his eyebrows, not used to Matt backing him up. Usually he and Chris sided together, and Matt was the lone voice of dissention.
In the intervening silence, Matt leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. "Chris, you and I started Truncheon because we wanted to discover new talent, right? Give people a chance that wouldn't normally get noticed. It was fine while we were small, and we could run the business along with developing artists. But now it's just spiralling out of control, and we've lost sight of our original vision."
Jess agreed. In fact, it was one of several arguments he had stashed in his back pocket in the event that the other two refused to hire someone. He was still shocked that Matt's mind had gone there too, but he wasn't going to pretend he didn't appreciate this partner's support, for once.
Chris was undeterred, however.
"I get that there's a lot of work, but I feel like the company is slipping away from us. I miss the old days where it was just the three of us in Philly, living and breathing the dream, you know?"
The memories hit Jess hard as they washed over him. That first day, walking into the dirty, half-underground space where Matt was trying to move bookshelves by himself while Chris yelled at the printer on the phone. They had treated him like a real human being, worthy of their interest and care. They told him his writing had promise, and they were excited about publishing it. It was the first time since he left Connecticut that he felt like he might be ok.
"I miss that too. That's why I really think we need to hire these people – so we can get back to something like we were before. The three of us, writing and editing and encouraging artists that are just like we used to be."
He and Matt held their breath, waiting for Chris to break down and admit they were right. It took less time than Jess thought.
"So," Chris' disembodied voice grumbled in defeat, "how are we going to find these magical new employees?"
"I think Jess should be in charge of that."
He whipped his head around, to find Matt grinning cheerfully at him.
"What? C'mon Jess! You have this list and everything. I think you're the man for the job."
From Boston, Chris enthusiastically agreed. Luckily for him, Jess' murderous glare didn't translate through speaker phone.
"Fine," he spat through his teeth. "I'll get a list of people together, but you'll both have to be here for interviews."
"There you go with that list word again. I didn't even know you knew what that meant." Matt's teasing laughter didn't improve Jess' mood.
"He has a point, man. Maybe you missed your calling as an accountant. Or Santa…"
"So glad we could have this friendly chat. Bye, Chris." He hit the end button, cutting his friend off mid-sentence.
Matt's giggling continued until he noticed Jess putting on his coat.
"Oh c'mon! You know we're just teasing."
"Uh huh, whatever." Jess slung his messenger bag over his shoulder, intent on getting out the front door before his annoyance boiled over.
"Seriously. You really are the right choice to handle this." Matt laid his hands on Jess' shoulders, effectively stopping his escape. "You've been covering the business angle more than either of us. You know best what we need, so of course we're going to trust you to pick the right people."
Jess nodded, understanding this was Matt's way of apologizing. And in truth, it was nice to hear his friends had that kind of confidence in him. He still thought of them as the original owners of Truncheon, with himself as the side-note, tag-along.
"Just make sure they're hot, ok? Chris and I could use some eye candy."
He rolled his eyes and punched Matt on the shoulder.
"I'm going to head home. I can't get any reading done here, and I need to have the final edits done for tomorrow."
Matt nodded and shoved him out the door. "Then get moving, slacker."
On his walk home, Jess smiled to himself about how lucky he was to find Truncheon and the guys when he did. After his first book all but exploded out of him and onto the page, he felt like a raw nerve. The writing had brought up emotions and regrets and resentments that he didn't know he had. Afterwards he was on his own and all of his walls and bravado were gone, leaving him feeling more alone than he ever had before.
And then, in a kismet-like coincidence, he was flipping through a local arts newspaper at a coffee shop, as a way of delaying his return 'home' to the backseat of his car. And there it was: a tiny ad looking for aspiring authors and artists, with an address on Locust Street. He'd been carrying around what he euphemistically called his 'manuscript' for almost 4 months, working odd jobs but never making enough to make ends meet.
He drove to the address before he was even finished that cup of coffee, and was greeted by a hand-written sign taped to the front door.
And inside was his salvation.
He shook his head at the crazy path his life had taken, and walked into the market at the end of his block. The kid behind the counter nodded in recognition. It was strange, Jess thought, being a regular somewhere and that status not making his skin crawl. Until recently, he had strived for anonymity - just a nameless face in the city, one of thousands. But now, his life felt different. He belonged, perhaps for the first time ever, and he had his friends and his business to thank.
He grabbed the usual staples; milk, bread, coffee, eggs. He wasn't planning on leaving his apartment until the final read-through was done, and there was nothing in the house to eat. He grabbed a bag of apples as well, Luke's voice in his head always stern about eating better. As he walked back up the junk food aisle, on his way to the register, his eyes flicked briefly to the left.
Pop-tarts.
He'd long ago given up trying to avoid everything that made him think of her. He worked with books, for god sake, so there was no avoiding that. Even so, it surprised him that otherwise innocuous items could still evoke some nostalgic response in him. He stopped in front of the shelf and looked at all the disgusting flavours.
Chocolate strawberry? Seriously?! Marshmallow Fluff? Was that even food?!
Jess rolled his eyes and continued on to the checkout, and then up the street to his building. The divided row houses had always been desirable, but this neighbourhood was still a little too gritty for most yuppies, which suited him just fine. He and the guys had all moved out of Truncheon a few years ago to their own, individual places, turning their formerly shared apartment into storage and a writing space for those that didn't have one.
He climbed the three flights of stairs at a brisk pace. At first, the lack of elevator had been a serious problem, but soon it just became part of his everyday routine. Other things had become predictable in his life, too. Every morning (or afternoon, as the case was lately) when he got up, he would do a page from his fitness calendar. It was a gag gift from Luke a couple of Christmases ago, with a different exercise for each day. Sometimes it was push ups, other times it was crunches or lunges. The worst days were leg days, but he religiously did those too. It usually only took 15 minutes, but it felt like he was accomplishing something – not to mention making the stairs less of a chore.
He still wrote regularly too, but he had gotten more methodical about it. After his quick workout and shower, he would sit with his notebook and scribble a few pages over his cereal and coffee. The topic varied; sometimes, if there was no particular focus in his mind, he would quickly Google a writing prompt. Often though, he would have an idea swirling around or something he was actively working on. Considering all of the extra business duties he had taken on lately, sometimes it was the only chance he got on a busy day to write at all.
His top floor apartment wasn't homey in the traditional sense, but it was home. Jess was slowly adding real furniture as his budget allowed, his most recent purchase being the distressed leather chair that received his messenger bag as he came in the door. After all of his groceries were safely put away, he sunk into his chair and put his feet up on the woven footstool. He refused to call it a pouf, even though the woman at the store asserted that's what it was. With his head leaning back onto the smooth cushion, he surveyed his apartment.
Home. The word didn't exactly roll off his tongue, even after living here for nearly 5 years. He had never really had a home before, so there was nothing to compare it to. It was the place he came back to every night, where he hung his clothes and stacked his books. If that made it a home, then he supposed that's what it was.
And, upon further reflection, it was starting to look remarkably like Luke's office above the diner. Everything was dark – 'moody' as that saleslady had called it. The floors and trim were all dark wood, befitting the age of the building. The furniture was all various shades of brown or dark grey. Even the one exposed brick wall had darkened over time.
He liked to think of it as masculine, but maybe he was actually going for cozy – a misguided attempt to give his space the warmth it was missing. He avoided thinking too much about why it didn't feel warm, but the voice on his shoulder didn't listen.
Rory and Lorelai's house always felt warm.
Jess snorted. That part was true. Even when their furnace was broken, the house felt warm; loved, lived in and warm. That's what it came down to, apparently. His apartment was his, and all of his stuff fit inside it, but he didn't really live in it. Friends didn't stop by unannounced, there were no impromptu dinners around his kitchen table or movie nights on his couch. Despite belonging in this city, and in this apartment, it still didn't feel like home.
Maybe in time, with the right person…
He quickly shook himself out of that train of thought. The only stops along the track were hope, expectation and disappointment. And he had work to do.
As he often did, he buried himself in paper and words, losing almost 5 hours and most of his introspection. When his cell phone rang just after 10:00pm, he jerked his head up in surprise. The windows were dark, as was the rest of his apartment. He hadn't bothered to turn on many lights when he got home, so the pool around his chair was the only bright spot in the room.
His mouth quirked up at the corner when he saw who was calling.
"Hey, Ms. Bigshot."
Rory laughed under her breath. "Hi, yourself. I hope this isn't too late."
"Nah. This is barely the middle of the afternoon. How was your inspection? Did they bounce quarters off your bed or what?"
"Ha ha. No, but there were a lot of grumpy faces when I mentioned I sometimes like to leave my bedroom window open at night."
He set aside the partially finished stack of pages, settling back against the cushions. "I'll bet. You might as well hang a sign outside that says 'Stalkers Enter Here'."
"Ugh," she groaned, "I'm not famous enough to have a stalker. This is ridiculous!"
"The men with the earpieces swarming over your apartment would suggest otherwise."
"Yeah, I guess. I just don't understand it. Why did this person choose me, of all the reporters out there?"
Jess gave it a second of thought. "I've caught enough episodes of CSI: Whatever to know that there's never any particular reason. Maybe you smiled at him once and the voice in his head told him you were destined to be together."
"Oh god! Do you really think that's true?"
He laughed. "I don't know, Ror. Stranger things have happened."
She silently chewed on his words for a while, probably upset by the idea that she had somehow encouraged a nutjob to follow her.
"So, did they come up with a plan for an alarm?"
"Oh, yes. There's a guy coming tomorrow to put in sensors and motion detectors and deadbolts and god knows what else. Maybe even laser beams."
He raised his eyebrow at her last comment. "Lasers, huh? Please tell me you'll have to wear a catsuit to climb through them when you get home every night?"
Jess heard her draw in a quick breath, just as he realized what he'd said. Shit. The flirty banter always came naturally to them, so that he never really considered censoring what he said to her. Shit, shit. Engaging his brain first was about to become his new mantra.
He opened his mouth to apologize, but she beat him to it.
"Well… probably not every day. But I'll keep that in mind for Halloween."
Of course he couldn't see it, but he would swear she just winked at him. The breath he was holding came out long and slow. "Geez, Gilmore. You're killing me over here."
She just laughed in her soft, feminine way, and the crisis was averted. His jeans were now a little uncomfortable, however.
"So – alarms, sensors. Are they going to station a big guy outside your door?"
"No. No doorman for Casa Rory. But I get an impressive looking control panel in the front room that lights up, and sensors in every corner to monitor my movements."
"Sounds… high tech."
She sighed. "Sounds like I'm the one in prison."
"No, it sounds safe, which is probably for the best." Jess knew she was scared and frustrated, but he was glad the inspection had been thorough.
"Yeah, I know." Rory sniffed and he could hear her shifting around. "So, tell me something interesting about you. How's work going?"
And… serious topic over, he thought to himself.
"It'll be getting better soon, I hope."
"Why? Are you stuck on something you're writing?"
He ignored the weird flutter he felt when she sounded genuinely concerned and interested.
"No, actually I haven't had much time to write recently, which is kind of the problem. The business is getting too much for us to handle, between the three of us."
"Oh," she breathed. "But that's a good thing, right? Doing well and being busy?"
"Busy is great, unless you're the one doing things like scheduling and bill paying."
"You're the one dealing with employees and suppliers and, well… people?"
Rory sounded incredulous, and he could see her point. He'd always resisted helping Luke with anything involving business at the diner. He didn't have the patience or the interest for it. But when it was his own business, he couldn't look to anyone else to pick up the slack.
"Laugh all you want, I'm a regular people person now. In fact, I'm in charge of hiring two managers in the next few weeks."
She couldn't contain her laughter. "You're a people person?" she squeaked. "Are you serious?"
"Yes. What exactly are you implying?"
"From what I remember, you couldn't be less of a people person. You are, indeed, an island as I recall."
"Ok. That's enough."
"In fact, I'm pretty sure the Unabomber took lessons from you. Loner doesn't even begin to describe—"
"I get your point, Gilmore," Jess grumbled. "But people grow up. And hey, I liked the occasional person when I was younger."
She grew quiet, and he realized he'd verbally stepped in something sticky.
"Yeah, I remember." Her voice was so small, he nearly missed it.
He hated this awkwardness between them. They had successfully avoided it for almost 10 years by not talking about anything real, or just not talking at all. Like a mud puddle they were always teetering on the edge of, it was time to steer the conversation away from their murky past.
"So. How's work going in the big, fancy office? Still feeling the nerves?"
She sighed. "It's ok. I'm just waiting for that moment that screams 'Hey! I don't suck at this anymore!'."
"Way to stay positive."
"Yeah, well. That's me: Miss Optimism. So, you said you have to hire some new people?"
"Apparently," he grimaced, "although I've never actively looked for staff before."
"But surely you have employees now. Where did they come from?"
"Our cloning machine in the back."
"Come on," she giggled.
"No, really. Before, we would just hang a Help Wanted sign in the window, and people would come in and ask. But these jobs are more serious, have more responsibility. I don't want to take out a vague ad in the paper or online."
"Right."
"I also don't want to have to wade through resumes of the unqualified hordes in the hopes of finding a couple of non-Neanderthals."
He shook his head at the thought of the hours he would need to spend on this project, as the business continued to struggle.
"I know what you should do."
She sounded so confident that he sat up a little straighter. "I'm all ears."
"Why don't you try a placement agency?"
"I'm not looking for a mindless office-bot." Jess crinkled his nose. "And besides, these jobs aren't temporary."
"That doesn't matter," she chided. "They have people looking for permanent spots too. And that way, someone has already vetted their resumes and called their references."
The idea honestly hadn't crossed his mind, but it was a good one. "You really think that would work?"
"Absolutely. I've used them a couple of times, looking for assistants, and CNN had one agency practically on speed dial to fill office spots."
"Okay. Thanks, Ror. I'll make some calls tomorrow. If it saves me reading through a stack of dud resumes, I'll owe you."
She cleared her throat deliberately and he instinctively braced himself for whatever she might say next.
"Maybe you can take me for dinner when you're in DC. When might that be, anyway?"
He certainly wasn't expecting her to say that! Jess wasn't an idiot, however. He knew this was dangerous territory. Still, she had opened the door for him. His instinct was to barge right through even though impulsiveness had never served them well. He liked to think he was smarter than that now, especially after all their time apart. But the truth was he still couldn't resist her pull. And what's more, tonight he didn't really want to.
"Eager to see me, are you?"
She hesitated briefly and he held his breath, mentally crossing his fingers that she wouldn't lose her nerve or change her mind.
"Well, that depends. Are you going to make it worth my while?"
Her voice was silky smooth and Jess froze in his chair. Rory Gilmore was flirting with him, teasing in a way she'd never had the confidence for when they were kids. His adult body responded and his teenage hoodlum grinned wolfishly.
"I'm sure I can keep you interested."
She chuckled, and his blood warmed even further. "I have no doubt."
"I'm meeting with my agent tomorrow, actually. I'll text you the dates so you can squeeze me into your busy calendar." Jess ran his hand through his hair, surprised and pleased at the turn in their conversation.
"Well, I am very important now. But I think I can probably make time for you."
"You think?"
His question got the anticipated response, and he confirmed to himself that her laughter was still the best thing he'd ever heard.
"I'll watch for your text tomorrow."
"I'm looking forward to it."
"Me too. But I should probably go. I have an early call with the Americas Desk at the BBC."
He rolled his eyes. "Does that ever not sound weird?"
"What?"
"I have an early call with the BBC. Does a person get used to saying things like that, or is it always a little bit unreal?"
"You're one to talk, Mr. Three-Appearances-on-GMA-In-One-Year. Does that ever not feel weird?"
He considered his amazingly good fortune, and shook his head. "Nope. Always weird."
"Well, there you go, then."
"Alright, go get your beauty sleep. I'll text you tomorrow."
"Can't wait. Bye, Jess."
"Night, Rory."
He let the phone slide down into his lap and leaned his body back into the worn leather. What the hell had just happened? There was nothing overtly said, nothing he could nail down, but it was still the best conversation he'd had with a girl in longer than he could remember. In fact, he could still feel the stupid smile on his face. Luckily here in the dark, alone in his apartment, he had no reason to hide it.
Dinner. With Rory. He was having dinner with Rory.
Jess' internal alarm bells were ringing loud and clear, but he didn't care. This felt too good and right now he felt too alive to worry about hypothetical consequences.
Maybe this thing between them had life in it yet.